Everybody Else Is Doing It
by birdwoman95
Summary: This is the "bits and bobs" stuff from my hard drive. It's mostly complete stuff, just I wasn't satisfied with it or thought it should be fleshed out. I present it to anyone who wants to read it. WARNING. Some of these will not look fondly on characters you know and love. In one particular chapter, there is a major character death. Rating is for that chapter in particular.
1. Chapter 1: explanation

So, this is going to be a bunch of short-shorts. Some were written a while ago. One was just polished off today. I'll upload more if I find them.


	2. Chapter 2: Justice

Harry Potter and the Miscarriage of Justice

Harry looked through the window of the car, not hearing the grumblings of his uncle in the front.

His godfather was on the run. His innocent godfather had a death sentence on his head and NO ONE was going to do anything about it.

And that traitor, Pettigrew. The rat got Harry's parents killed, got Sirius thrown in Hell for 12 years, and he got away scott free. Like Malfoy and the other rich death eaters.

And the minister was going to just look the other way. Like when he put Hagrid in prison to be "seen to be doing something". Or when he refused to listen to Hermione and Harry. Not that Dumbledore did anything to make the Minister change his mind.

Looking back over the last three years – and even all the years Harry had been indentured to the Dursleys - Dumbledore hadn't been a great deal of help when Harry needed him. Dumbledore knew when Harry was in trouble and never did a thing to help. At all. Dumbledore saw the letter to the "cupboard under the stairs." Dumbledore stood back when the school called him the Heir of Slytherin. Dumbledore let the Minister use Harry as bait last summer, trying to catch a man everyone thought was a mass murderer.

The magical world was corrupt. Everyone wanted to use the Boy Who Lived but no one gave a toss about Harry Potter. They were all mad.

His aunt and uncle were completely right.

When they arrived back in Privet Drive, his uncle turned to Harry.

"You'll put your things in your room and come down tomorrow for your list of chores," he began. "I'll have none of your freakishness."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry answered. "May I request an audience with you and Aunt Petunia first, Sir?"

Vernon Dursley raised one eyebrow at his nephew. Gone was the snarkiness from the boy's voice. It was actually a respectful tone, and Vernon wondered what the child was up to. Forewarned is forearmed, he'd always thought, so he grunted in acquiescence and nodded toward the kitchen.

Petunia stood at the counter, sipping a cup of tea. She turned when Vernon and Harry walked in. Sniffing at Harry's appearance, she tilted her head when he didn't look at her with Lily's defiance.

"Well, boy?"

"I wanted to let you both know something important. I've been thinking about all the things that have happened to us. You never asked to take me. You were put to considerable expense and danger to care for me, and no one has ever thanked you. I do. I thank you. And I wish you'd been more successful in stamping the freakishness out of me.

"You see, a lot of things happened this year, and I realize you're right. They are selfish, awful freaks in that world. I want nothing more to do with them, but I can't walk away. For reasons I don't want to go into, I studied a lot of their laws this year. I'm stuck having to learn magic until I pass the general exams. But I really, really don't want to go back there.

"My parents left a very small educational trust. I know you don't owe me anything, but I'm wondering if you, as my legal guardians, will allow me to drop out of Hogwarts and hire a private tutor with those funds. I should be able to do that and go to Stonewall high. Then I can live in the real world and forget all about those freaks."

He stood, silent, having said his peace.

(this is a line break)

Now that he was on better terms with his aunt and uncle – and it would give his aunt and uncle a way to thumb their noses at the freaks, in general – Harry had rides to Diagon Alley weekly. From there, he found information on other magical and mixed areas he could get information on his particular situation.

He found a school in Ireland, run by muggleborn who had a serious issue with the muckety-mucks of the British magical world. Those administrators and teachers were more than glad to help Harry in his predicament.

So it was, on 1 August, that Minerva McGonagall, deputy at Hogwarts, opened a letter announcing the withdrawal of one Harry Potter from Hogwarts. He had transferred to another school with the full support of his guardians (who were happily out of the country on holiday).

As Albus was also on holiday, and cc'd on the letter were members of the hierarchy of both British and Irish governments, Minerva followed the request for copies of all health and academic records. She was saddened by the loss of Potter, but she had a school to get ready.

Harry, meanwhile, was busy catching up at his new school. He had tutors (paid for by the new fund his newly-found barrister had set up with proceeds from the successful lawsuits against the BWL product makers) that were making up for the missed classes (anything not magical and many things that were useful and magical) and the magical classes he had taken but was woefully behind in (anything taught by a ghost, a revolving-door, or a greasy git).

The fact that he had to be in a time-capsule to do some serious physical healing helped here. One month before school was a bit more than a year in the capsule. Harry had needed it.

Of course, Potter luck had to come into play at some point. Harry was busy minding his business, keeping up in classes, learning his new environment. He had just started to get comfortable in his new home when he felt it.

On Halloween (wasn't it ALWAYS on Halloween), he felt the pull on his magic. The healer and headmaster were quite furious when Albus Dumbledore deigned to inform them – his eyes all a-twinkle – that Harry had been pressed into service in a long-forgotten, deadly tournament. He urged them to bring the young wizard back to Britain, post-haste, in order that Potter might be brought up to date on his new responsibilities.

Master Behan, the headmaster, thanked his fellow headmaster coolly. He then demanded a full copy of the rules and regulations for this supposed tri-wizard tournament (that had bound a fourth, unwilling, underage contestant). He also informed Ireland's minister of magic, just to be on the safe side.

Harry's new team – his barrister (a squib cast from a prominent British wizarding family), his favorite muggleborn teacher (whose family had been killed in the Voldemort fiasco a score or so years before), and his headmaster went through the rules with a fine-toothed comb.

So it was, on a blustery morning in late autumn, that Harry presented himself (accompanied by his teacher Mr. Leahy) to the tent of the tri-wizard competitors. The other three competitors looked at him curiously. It was obvious that his name had been entered for some nefarious purpose, but no one bothered sending him condolences. His former friends had been angry that he'd left Britain – no amount of logic could talk them out of their hurt feelings. That he'd been thrown into this competition showed just how stacked the deck was against him, but still, neither Ron nor Hermione nor any of the quiddich team had sent a word to him. The rest of the school had been pretty much against him for "abandoning" them.

He was really never more grateful he'd left this place. After all, they'd all have probably accused him of entering himself had he been in the castle when this whole circus had been going on.

Harry waited patiently for his turn, avoiding all eyes and all questions, only looking to his teacher when that man confirmed with him, under the privacy spell, that he only had to show to the task in order to keep his magic.

When it was his turn, he went out to greet his "foe." The dragon was huge, ugly, and looked like it'd gotten up on the wrong side of the bed – every day for the last millennia. Harry took one look and was so glad he and his team had come up with his strategy.

He walked into the competitor's circle. He bowed to the dragon. Then he walked back out. As his teacher portkeyed them away, he heard the booing of the crowd.

Bunch of sheep. How many of them would go up against a horntail?

The Christmas hols were peaceful. He didn't get many presents, but he didn't have to dance at a ball, either. Hermione had finally sent him a letter full of apology. She had been hurt by what she saw as his abandonment. It wasn't until she saw the dragon that she truly knew what Harry was up against, and that the trials seemed to get more and more evil every year.

She also wanted to know if his school took mid-year transfers. He showed it to his teacher, who laughed and began a correspondence with Hermione's parents.

By the time of the second task, Ms. Granger was no longer a student at Hogwarts. She'd also had enough of the "best school in Britain." So it was, when Harry showed up for the second task, for which he was completely unprepared, it was to a panel of judges that were quite angry with him. He'd made a mockery of the first event, simply bowing to the dragon and never even attempting to get the egg. He was told by Albus Dumbledore that Ginny Weasley was waiting at the bottom of the lake for Harry to save her.

Harry had no intention of doing so.

When the whistle blew, he put his feet (after he had taken off his shoes and socks) into the ice-cold water. Shivering, he shook his head. He got back up, picked up his shoes, then walked to his teacher and portkeyed away.

Ginny would be pulled from the water later, completely devastated that her hero didn't come to save her. Dumbledore was stymied. If Harry had grown so cold that he would no longer sacrifice for his friends, the wizarding world hadn't a hope.

The day of the final task dawned. Harry had an exam that morning, so was unable to present himself to Hogwarts until just before the task. He had no idea what the task was, nor did he care. When he showed up, the booing started immediately. He smirked.

This time, his teacher, with the magic portkey made by Dumbledore which would get Harry off Hogwarts grounds, was not allowed anywhere near the event. Harry frowned, thinking that it was good Mr. Leahy had provided him an emergency portkey of his own this time.

The gun went off, and some bloke named Krum went into what used to be the quiddich pitch but was now obviously a maze. After certain indistinct amounts of time, Diggory followed, then Delacour. The gun went off a final time, and Harry roused himself. He walked into the maze, far enough the people could no longer see him. Then he sat down. He attempted his portkey, but Hogwarts was well-known for its anti-portkey wards. Only one made by the headmaster could get around this.

He passed the time revising for the exam he was to take on the following day. He felt very prepared – he'd studied a lot harder this year. But he had little else to do.

Eventually, though, the maze rows fell. Diggory had reached the center and touched the cup.

It was a win for Hogwarts. Huzzah.

Harry did not clap when Cedric was awarded the win. He avoided any and all from Hogwarts who tried to talk to him. The defense flavor of the year – some scarred up old-sod by the name of Moody tried to congratulate him on his method of staying unharmed. Harry ignored them all.

He ignored them all, that is, until Moody tossed a medallion at him. Harry's seeker instincts kicked in, and he grasped the medal from the air. He was quite suddenly dragged, portkey method, away from Hogwarts.

Apparently, Dumbledore had issued this guy some kind of portkey. Knowing it was 1) the defense teacher and 2) something with a Dumbledore taint, Harry was prepared for the worst when he landed.

Harry, though he used to have horrific trouble landing with portkeys, had a year of getting used to the crazy method of travel. As soon as he landed, he activated his own portkey back to Ireland. His head sent a covert message to Mr. Leahy who simply made his own way, quietly, away from Scotland and the crazy furor surrounding the obviously polyjuiced man who'd kidnapped Harry.

Harry was fine. Let the British sort their own problems.

Voldemort and Pettigrew, meanwhile, waited in the cemetery. They saw Potter appear, but before Pettigrew could capture the youth, he disappeared again. Voldemort used what magic he had to crucio Pettigrew, and Pettigrew finally decided, "screw this," and he ran.

Voldemort was left not quite stewing… until aurors showed up. They had captured Moody/Crouch, knew what Voldemonkey was, and, after some brief study by the unspeakables, threw him through the veil. With the free part of his spirit now vanquished, the horcruxes lost their power.

They hadn't captured Pettigrew, however, so they still declared that Sirius Black was persona non grata and kept the kiss-on-sight order in place. For that alone, Harry Potter eschewed Britain, and in his following (extremely successful) years, he never did move back to that nation.

The prophesy in the hall that Dumbledore so ardently believed in marked itself as fulfilled. If anyone had bothered to attempt to reconcile it, they would have been quite confused. But it was quite obvious to anyone who'd studied it and Mr. Potter's life. The power he knows not? Justice!

A/N this is one of the first that I wrote. I felt like it was too similar to my other stuff. But it's good enough for a clippy file. Original blurb: Harry views the condemnation and attempted summary execution of his innocent godfather, and he watches his headmaster, a man who seems infinitely powerful, simply shrug his shoulders at the miscarriage of justice. Harry decides that's enough, and that the British wizarding world can go hang.


	3. Chapter 3: Tragedy

It was yet another dark, hot night. The summer of 1996 was just a regular summer, but for Harry Potter, it was hell.

He couldn't sleep. Even if his relatives would feed him, he couldn't eat. He hadn't heard from his friends in weeks.

He'd never hear from his godfather again.

He didn't really care about it much anymore. He knew he was to blame, but did it really matter? The end result was that he was alone, and he was coming to understand that he would always be alone. No one really knew him; no one really cared. They might want the Boy Who Lived, but Harry was worthless.

And now, all the papers saying he was "chosen" or whatever. They were going to expect him to save them. Like he could save anything. He almost got all his friends killed every year at school. He did get Cedric and Sirius killed.

Really, he was just so tired. Tired and numb. He wasn't even miserable anymore. He was just done. Done.

Done.

He tied the bedsheets in a hangman's noose. He went to the closet, knowing that the hatch for the attic was there. He got on a chair, and, checking the length, tied the other end of the sheet to a bar.

When he stepped off the chair, everything went black.

(this is a line break)

He hadn't left a note. He hadn't said a word. Of course, Hermione was almost livid enough to be angry with her headmaster for disallowing contact with Harry. She was sure he had his reasons, but now Harry, without anyone to help him, was dead. By his own hand. At first, she was full of anguish and felt that being around their friends would help her, but as the school year went on and the war worsened, Hermione realized that Hogwarts wasn't worth staying in Britain for. She talked her parents into sneaking her out of Britain, found herself another school in another country, and never really looked back.

Ron was unforgiving. Harry had a duty and he backed out. If Harry lived through the hanging, Ron would have punched him and then ignored him. As it was, he refused to hear Harry's name in his presence. Between that boycott and the escalation of war, Harry went to the back of Ron's mind.

Neville was sad, so very sad. He felt he should have tried to help Harry more. But he had a life to live of his own, and though he sometimes would think of Harry, it was infrequent.

The same could be said of most of the folks that actually knew Harry. Unless they actively hated Harry, of course.

Draco Malfoy, for one, raised a purloined glass of elf wine in toast to the dead Scarhead when he heard the news. The next day, it was old news to him. He moved on.

In general, people might talk of the tragedy of the Boy Who Killed Himself (usually, they were quite angry with said boy in these discussions), but after the initial shock, no one really ever mourned Harry Potter.

Harry hadn't left a will, so Gringotts locked down his vaults. If, in 250 years, no one claimed them, they would return to the horde.

The Dursleys, after having the police take away their unwanted nephew's body, searched his room and trunk for any valuables then burned the rest. The Firebolt – of Harry's few possessions - was the only thing spared from the conflagration as it sat moldering in the basement of Hogwarts castle. It would be discovered by a new caretaker in a few decades, but it was never associated with Harry Potter.

Dumbledore, the chess master who had arranged many of the elements of Harry's life and had merely sat back and let many other situations befall his would-be protégé, became a bit more careful. He no longer had a backup plan. Harry Potter would not do his dirty work. When he went for the ring, he took Moody with him. He wasn't even really tempted by the resurrection stone: he was too afraid that Harry, who might just see all would visit him. As the war intensified, Dumbledore finally began to realize that not all life is equally sacred.

Eventually, Dumblodre advocated that aurors should fight with lethal force. That was the impetus needed to both increase the auror force and the level of spells said aurors could use in both defense and offense. Death Eaters in Azkaban were thrown through the veil. Working with his Order, Dumbledore tracked down the rest of the horcruxes and destroyed them with fiendfyre. Eventually, Dumbledore killed Voldemort in battle with the help of several of his Order.

Some people were lost in the war. Some people triumphed.

Life went on.

And Harry saw none of this. Harry was dead.

A/N Depressing, yes? I wrote this one when I read yet another fic that was poorly concealed suicide ideation. Death, so far as we know, is the end. Anyone who romanticizes it (including Ms. JKR, in some ways) is just nuts. Teaching high school, I see some of my kids on the border of making this decision. I see in many works of fiction that someone's influence is even more accentuated in his death. But that's generally not true. If you take yourself out of the equation, your impact on others is minimized. They will move on, many will even forget you. If you're thinking of suicide, get help. Don't end it. Just don't. Please.


	4. Chapter 4: Kidnapped

Kidnapped!

Tongue firmly held between his front teeth, Harry Potter worked on his rune etching. Being home schooled by his godfather and honorary uncle was pretty okay. His private school was pretty good but just normal. He liked the magic thing – well, much better than he thought he would the first time he learned magic was real. And learning it alongside normal… err that would be muggle… stuff was working out pretty well. He honestly never dreamed he'd enjoy magic, especially after the first time he was exposed to it.

(this is a line break)

It was a dark and stormy night. Trite as that might sound, it was the truth. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon – his guardians at the time – had dragged him and his whale of a cousin all around Britain all because these mysterious letters kept appearing wherever they stayed. (If it hadn't been so weird, Harry would've actually enjoyed that impromptu vacation, seeings as he'd never been on vacation before.) The final night of their bizarre flight, they were sojourning in a rustic cabin on an island. They'd taken a boat to get there and everything. No letters showed up. But in the middle of the night, someone started pounding on the door.

Then that someone knocked in the door – with his bare hands. And it was a plenty solid door, at that.

Well, Uncle Vernon wasn't having any of that. He lifted his shot gun (all those years belonging to the shooting club were finally paying off) and blasted the huge guy in the chest. The guy stopped, bent for a moment breathing heavily, then stood up.

"That hurt uh bit, Dursley, ya great prune." Then, the gargantuan man grabbed Uncle Vernon's gun, bent it in half, and threw it at Uncle Vernon, knocking him to the floor. He didn't move. Aunt Petunia and Dudley hid behind various bits of furniture at that moment. Harry just stood, shocked, wondering what the giant man wanted.

Then the giant man turned and looked straight at Harry.

"Well, Harry Potter. I t'aint seen ye since ye were a wee tyke. Hagrid's me name. Twas gonna wait til first light to take ye to Diagon, but what with this bit of a bother, mebbe now would be a better time to go, yeah?"

Harry got the gist of this. Some lunatic who dwarfed his uncle's six foot frame and looked to be about 30 stone was taking Harry somewhere. What choice did he have? He didn't like his relatives much, but Uncle Vernon had shot the man, and it hadn't even left a dent.

Besides, his relatives were the worst sort of people and would likely be ecstatic if Harry were to go along with this kidnapper.

So he did.

He rode in silence as the giant mumbled about this and that. He followed along slightly – apparently magic was real (and didn't that explain a lot of things?) and Harry was a wizard. They were going to enroll Harry at a magic school and buy supplies for that school. When they got to a bank (run by goblins of all things), Harry was just about done being shocked. Harry'd spent most of his life on his toes – whether it was his hooligan cousin's gang trying to thrash him, his aunt trying to hit him with the heaviest cooking utensil she could heft, or simply his teachers trying to get him to demonstrate he was smarter than his cousin (which would earn him a beating at home), he had spent most of his waking minutes reacting. His survival had depended on it.

In Gringotts Bank, Harry's reactionary brain took over.

Banks kept money. Banks had guards. These guards looked meaner than the giant guy. Surely, magical guards would be able to handle this monster man.

When they got to the teller, Harry waited for his chance.

"And does Mr. Potter have his key?" the teller asked.

"Dumbledore gave it to me… the li'l bugger's here somewhere…" As his kidnapper was distracted, Harry pulled away. Getting a few people between him and the giant, he got the attention of one of the guards.

He looked straight at the goblin, and whispered (though he was trying to scream), "Help me, please! I've been kidnapped!"

(this is a line break)

Well, that was all it had taken. The goblin guards, already suspicious that an heir didn't have his own key, surrounded Hagrid. They called the aurors in, as the purported kidnapping had occurred outside the bank. When Albus Dumbledore, he of all the titles and names, tried to get everything swept under the rug as a giant (no pun intended) misunderstanding, the healers who had started analyzing Harry's health stepped in. In the memory of the incident provided by Hary, he was obviously kidnapped by Rubeus Harid.

When Dumbledore clamed guardianship of the child, the healers had someone to blame for the abuse they found. When word of the abuse of The Boy Who Lived leaked, Vernon and Petunia Dursley were arrested just to pacify the public. But it wasn't enough to calm the horde.

How did their hero end up as an abused house-elf to magic-hating muggles? The fallout was massive. Dumbledore, though he did no time in Azkaban, was stripped of his various positions, including (especially) that of headmaster. McGonagall, the deputy headmistress, was also summarily dismissed when her role in the kidnapping (really? They left a 15 month child on a doorstep in the night in November?) was revealed.

Things might've been worse for Reubeus Hagrid had he not confessed right off (and admitted to knocking Dursley senseless, which actually won him some points). As it was, he was limited contact with children, so had to find work away from Hogwarts.

But what of Voldemort and the Death Eaters (and doesn't that sound like a bad band name)? Because of the "misunderstanding", Hagrid was taken by the aurors and didn't get a chance to fulfill his other mission: emptying vault 713 of its precious treasure (Nicholas Flamel's philosopher's stone). Because the vault was still full, its security was still at maximum. The goblins, alerted to an attempted breakin on vault 713, contained Quirinus Quirrell, note his parasitic passanger, and drain the magic of both, shunting this to further enhance the wards of Gringotts.

Poor Tommy Riddle. Cursing his dimwitted host, he could feel his own magic under attack. Attempting to save himself, he drained whatever magic he could reach – including all the horcruxes that weren't contained by protective magic (that would be Lily's charm only). Normally, the wards of Hogwarts would have been enough to protect the diadem, but Dimbledore (in his not so infinite wisdom) had weakened those wards several times (something about allowing a death eater or two on staff), allowing even that horcrux to be drained. When this magic wasn't enough to stand in the face of the Goblin Horde, Tom reached out and pulled magic from his only other hope – his death eaters.

Every marked death eater was squibbed that day. Those that were weak or infirm in any way (read: those in Azkaban) died that day.

(You don't even want to know how far away the scream could be heard when Molly Weasley discovered a dirty squib in her son Ron's bed.)

This was, incidentally, what kept the death eaters from trying to take Harry during his brief guardian-less time. It's also what spurred the actual trial of Sirius Black, since that man was unaffected by the mass squibbing.

As Harry was healed of years of abuse (and his curse scar de-cursed by competent healers), he wondered what his fate would be. When he met his godfather for the first time, he was, understandably, skeptical. But Sirius, with the balancing presence of Remus, had turned out to be a great guardian: firm when he needed to be but understanding overall.

With Dumbledore and McGonagall gone, Hogwarts was in a perpetual state of flux and the remaining Marauders decided that Harry would do better away from those hallowed halls. Harry agreed. He didn't want to be Freak or Boy or even The Boy Who Lived. He just wanted to be Harry.

And that's just what he was.

A/N So this one came pretty quickly. I've always thought Harry should've been scared of Hagrid. Why wasn't he? This guy breaks down the door, bends a shotgun (in the movie anyhow – don't remember if that's in the book)… And what would have happened if he said No, Thank You here? That's another story…


	5. Chapter 5: RESPECT

R-E-S-P-E-C-T (find out what it means to me)

Hermione was taking a rare break in those last days of the school year of 1992-1993. She'd spent too much time paralyzed to the world around her. All those days lost – it bothered her in a way her young mind couldn't quite name, so she compensated by studing almost frenetically. Hours after hours in the library pouring over Harry's strangely comprehensive notes (really, if he could produce work like this in her absence, why didn't he do it all of the time?) had given her a sort of headachy feeling, so she decided to take a walk.

Thinking of the devil brought him on. There was Harry, sitting by the lake. Exams had been cancelled so most kids were simply horsing around. Harry, though, seemed to have had enough of the craziness (and the weird staring that Ron's little sister and the Creevey boy seemed to indulge in) and had found a quiet place.

"Hullo Harry!" Hermione chimed, sitting down next to him.

He was quiet for a second before he answered.

"Hey, Hermione. Had enough of the library?"

"For now. I've so much to catch up on! And even though we don't have exams, I just know that this material is important for our future studies." She worried her lip a bit, pondering over future assessments.

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, you know Snape'll probably make sure anyone who got petrified will be at more of a disadvantage than they already are. That's his kind of move."

"It's Professor Snape, Harry. You really ought to respect him more," Hermione gently chided.

"Yeah? Why?" Harry turned to face her fully and all the humor was gone from his face. In fact, he looked a bit puzzled and not just a bit angry.

"Well, he's studied for years! He's a foremost expert in potion making." Really, Hermione thought, the professor's credentials were certainly well known.

"And he's a total shite. A wanker. A git." The shock on Hermione's face was palpable.

"Harry! Language! And you shouldn't speak of a professor like that."

"What, because I'm twelve I don't have right to an opinion? I don't have bleeding eyes? I don't have the ability to see facts? The man might be able to mix any potion in that big book you had for the polyjuice potion, but he's an arse. He picks on kids. He picks on me. He picks on Neville. He picks on YOU. He picks on anyone and everyone who's under the age of seventeen who doesn't wear green. How can you stand up for a supposed man who gets his jollies out of bullying kids?"

Hermione paused. Part of her mind was agreeing with Harry. "While I admit Professor Snape is a bit of a bully at times, perhaps he feels he needs to be that way to maintain control of his classroom. It is a very dangerous subject, after all."

"Made more so by the fact that he never stops his snakes from throwing things in other peoples' cauldrons. He's a terrible teacher and a terrible person. In the classroom, I'll call him professor, but not out here. He's not worthy of my respect."

"Harry! All professors are worthy of your respect!" Hermione rejoined, aghast at Harry's thoughts.

"Really…" Harry drew out the word sarcastically. "Well, let's just take your experiences with teachers, shall we? We'll even leave Hogwarts out of it for a second.

"When you got here, you were hungry for friendship. I'd dare say that, like me, you'd never had a friend before Hogwarts. It would explain why we both put up with Ron constantly degrading us – you more than me. So, I'd guess that you were picked on quite a bit at your primary. I'll bet teachers saw it happen and aside from maybe yelling at the kids, they never really punished them, right?"

Hermione was silent; she looked like she might start to cry, so Harry changed his course.

"So, I can only go off my own primary experience. My cousin and his gang used to chase me down. They called it 'Harry Hunting.' They'd beat the stuffing out of me if they caught me. The recess duty teachers never said a word. Everybody knew that if I did work, my cousin would either steal it or destroy it. Everybody knew that my uncle would also beat the stuffing out of me if I did better than Dudley. Everybody knew. Nobody did bloody anything.

"Like you, I was hoping for better here. But let's see. Malfoy has called me Scarhead and you Mudblood right in front of teachers. They do nothing. Half of this year, in addition to being called Voldie Junior, I've been hexed in the halls. They do nothing. Flitwick? He has a firstie who has her clothes stolen, her work stolen and destroyed, and she gets locked in the halls at night. Flitwick never says a thing. Of course, it all comes from Dumbledore. The man who, along with McGonagall and Hagrid, left the baby version of me on the Dursley's doorstep in the middle of the night less than a day after I'd watch my parents get murdered. He didn't even ring the bell and he never checked to see I was okay there.

"Before you try to excuse that attitude, you ought to know that Neville and I each tried to go to Dumbledore to try to get mandrakes sourced from somewhere else. We wanted to get you guys out of the hospital wing. He smiled and twinkled and shooed me away. McGonagall didn't even let Neville talk to Dumbledore. She just pulled the same thing she pulled with us and the stone last year.

"So, tell me, Hermione. Why should I respect any of those people?"

Tears rolling down her cheeks, Hermione just shook her head and then bowed it. She wanted to run, she wanted someone to make it better. But there was no one.

Until she felt an arm shyly come round her shoulder.

"I respect you, Hermione," Harry said, his voice quiet. "You're brilliant. You're brave. You're honestly the best person I've ever met. I would be lost without you. I'm sorry I took my mood out on you."

Hermione hugged Harry hard for a second, then sat up, wiping her face with her sleeve. "You're right, Harry. My parents have always warned me that I worship authority a bit too much. Sometimes adults can be wrong. I'm going to rely on you to remind me of that. But there are others here you can respect. Madame Pomphrey is stellar – she's given you better glasses and nutrient potions and everything, right? And Professor Sprout actually punished the Puffs that called you the Heir. They're not all good, but they're not all bad, either."

Harry just nodded, knowing she was right.

She inhaled deeply through her nose and then she sat up straighter. "Now, what's this about you dumbing down your work? You're doing that now, for Ronald, aren't you?"

The conversation turned. It ended up with Harry changing his third year electives (Hermione, too). It also resulted in her mother making a DHS complaint about her daughter's friend. The ensuing investigation made for much more pleasant summers for Harry.

The two eventually found many teachers they could respect as they tempered their judgment with the understanding that adults were, after all, just people. It was hard for people to do what was right when it conflicted with what was easy. But as Harry soon realized, as long as he could respect himself first, he could find others he could respect, too.

A/N It always bugs me that Hermione is so adamant about respecting the faculty of Hogwarts when they are, almost to a person, not respectable. They don't do their jobs AT ALL. If I taught chemistry the way Snape teaches potions, I'd have been fired, with cause, that first class. And the school wide bullying is just atrocious and never, ever addressed. Crazy.


	6. Chapter 6: Who Says Bad Teachers Teach N

How To Subvert a Prophecy, or, Who Says Bad Teachers Teach Nothing?

 _"_ _Tonight, before midnight... the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master_

 _…_ _break free and set out to rejoin his master_

 _…_ _break free and set out to rejoin his master"_

Nope. Not a chance. Not if Harry could do anything about it. He felt his back straighten as he thought of a way to subvert that drunken hag's ravings.

"Brackium emendo!" When the rat-man's arm went floppy, Harry grinned. He quickly pointed to the other three limbs and repeated. He'd heard that this man, this Pettigrew, had beytrayed all that was good and joined Voldemort. Then he hid as a rat for twelve years, TWELVE YEARS, while Mr. Black was innocent and rotting in Azkaban. No way was Harry letting this guy get away again.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Ron shouted.

"Well, seems to me that if rat-man here transforms to a rat, he'd be hard to find. But even a rat can't run without leg bones. Don't worry, this is what Lockhart did to me last year. The damage isn't permanent. That skelegrow stuff hurts, but it'll do rat-man right up if anyone gives it to him."

The others (who were awake and not rat-men) looked at him with a sense of chagrin and humor. Of course, he was correct. Peter could've easily gotten away if he transformed.

Just then, a change started to come over Professor Lupin's face. Harry, knowing it wasn't Halloween, decided to try for good luck instead of bad. He turned to Mr. Black.

"Wait, you said that you became a dog man so that you could be with Professor Lupin when he was a wolf? So you should stay here with him. Ron, Hermione and I will take professor Snape and rat man."

"Peter, Harry. His name is Peter," his professor corrected with a bit of venom in his normally-mild voice.

"Oh, I don't know, Moony. I kind of like rat man as a name for the dirty rat."

"Professor," Hermione interrupted, "could you make the two men lighter for us to carry? I don't think we should try to re-enervate Professor Snape as he hit his head pretty severely and that's bound to make him… displeased."

The three kids shared a look and a shudder. Snape unhappier than usual was hard to picture and a fate to be avoided at all costs.

Remus sighed. "You can't put a feather-lite charm on a person. I suppose it's too early for you to know the mobilicorpus spell?"

Harry shrugged sheepishly, "I was just going to say we should wingardium leviosa them up to the castle."

Remus's eyebrows raised, but he gave a short nod. "That'll do the job. Careful not to drop them… too much." His grin was all Marauder and was mirrored by a sinister-looking Sirius Black.

Finding a stout stick for Ron to hobble on, the three kids and two comatose adults made their way out of the tunnel, locking the door on the werewolf and animagus. Those two had gone through the transformations prior to the advent of wolfsbane; Harry had to hope they'd be able to do it one last time for posterity.

They started up the hill. Harry "accidentally" dropped Professor Snape three times, while Hermione dropped rat man twice. It was all Ron could do to hobble on his broken ankle on the uneven ground.

They got to a small knoll that hid them from view of the castle. Harry's Slytherin side spoke up – about screamed at him, actually.

"Hermione, you take Ron. Go ahead of us. I'll be okay here with these two, and I'm the only one who can do a patronus if the dementors get any ideas. I'll even hide under my invisibility cloak – glad I got that back! Get one of the professors to call the police. They need to come get rat man."

"Aurors, Harry. They're called aurors in the magical world," Hermione corrected.

He barely kept from rolling his eyes. "Yeah, them. Anyway, call them and then come back as fast as you can to help me get these two back up. You and Ron can go faster if we're not trying to bring these guys along."

"OK Harry."

After Hermione was out of sight, a slightly maniacal grin crossed Harry's face. First, he searched the dirty rat-man's pockets. Wouldn't do for him to have some magic device that could take him away… he'd read about portkeys and wanted to make sure. While he was searching he found two wands. There was a dirty-white one and an almost black one.

The darker of the two gave almost as big a shower of sparks as his own wand had – in his off-hand, anyhow. It was a cold wand, but it felt powerful.

Harry looked at the comatose professor on the ground.

 _Lockhart certainly taught me more than I thought_ , Harry mused as he aimed the black wand at… what had Mr. Black called him? Snivellous? Perfect!

"OBLIVIATE!" Harry put as much might and will and all the hatred he'd had for Snape into that spell. He wanted Snape to forget Mr Black and Professor Lupin and especially anything Potter. Maybe if he forgot all of them, he wouldn't cause so much trouble anymore.

By the time Hermione came back with Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore, the Black wand had disappeared into one of Harry's pockets (along with rat-man's suspiciously–full magical change purse. Lots of galleons in total, Harry reckoned. Rat man had probably been stealing from students for years. Oh, well. Finders keepers.)

Dumbledore tried to catch Harry's eye as he congratulated the boy hero on thinking about stripping Pettigrew of any potential magical items. But Harry had also learned from Quirrel and knew that some wizards could get into your head by looking into your eyes. So Harry kept his not-so-innocent gaze averted.

McGonagall re-enervated Snape, who seemed to have no idea what had happened that night, or even the last few months. In fact, though he knew his fellow faculty, he had no idea who Harry and Hermione were. His potions skills were untouched, but his memory for people seemed to have been thoroughly cocked-up.

His memory loss was blamed on the over-powered expelliarmus (and resulting head trauma) that Harry had performed. The bumps and general jostling he'd gotten on the trip out of the tunnel didn't help matters. No one really knew the extent of that trauma, and Harry kept it that way.

Rat man a.k.a. Pettigrew was greeted with horror by Cornelius Fudge. He tried to have his guards have the man kissed, but Dumbledore stepped in. After all, a summary execution on Hogwarts grounds would almost certainly get the board in a tizzy. A short hearing followed by a full trial had resulted in Pettigrew taking up residence in Azkaban. His bones were regrown his first week there and his animagus ability was locked away.

Sirius Black was issued an apology and all charges were dismissed (no pardon was granted as he'd never been convicted). He never presented himself to the wizengamot, though. He and Professor Lupin moved into the Black townhouse, put it under as many wards as they could conceive of (and between them and the Black library, they conceived of quite a few) and "kidnapped" a willing Harry from his muggle relatives after he begged them to do so. The Dursleys signed the change of custody form the same day that they filed a change of address form with the muggle post office.

By the time Dumbledore found out that they had all disappeared, the wards had fallen and Harry had seen a responsible healer that fixed several of his problems – including malnutrition and a magic-leaching scar on his forehead. With his new guardians, he charted his life in the magical and non-magical world. He and Hermione eventually were distanced from Ron as they took a similar schedule and he stuck with the "easy options".

Dumbledore, though suspicious of the events of that (what he thought of as terrible) evening, had no time to investigate. A few weeks after term ended (coinciding with the removal of aforementioned magical leech), Severus and several of his… friends… began to sicken. No matter the treatment, they worsened. Before the new term began, they were all greatly reduced magically – many to the point of being squibs. Initial panic subsided when it was noted that only those who were marked with You Know Who's magic – whether imperiused on or not – became ill. Even their closest family members remained unaffected.

Snape had been an incredibly strong wizard; now he was grateful there was no "silly wand waving" involved in potions. He'd have been unable to be a potioneer in that case. As it was, he was now stupidly thankful for Dumbledore's job and between that and the side effects of the "accident" that had befallen him (and resultant personality switch), he became an almost tolerable teacher.

The students of Hogwarts never knew that they had their bright, clear future all thanks to a few bad teachers and one very, very mischievous boy.

If he knew, Harry would say, "you're welcome!"


	7. Chapter 7: A highly implausible story

What's in a name?: a story of high implausibility. Very short, and very silly.

Harry listened as Hagrid explained about the name of the man who had murdered Harry's parents. And it really made no sense to him, at all.

"Hang on – is that kind of name normal in this world? It doesn't sound real, yeah?"

"Well," Hagrid replied, " 'e was a Lord and all that."

Harry's brow furrowed. "But Lords have old names – families or places, right? Is there like a place that is - what was it again? Valdimart? – or was it a family name?"

"Yeh know," Hagrid scratched his beard, pondering. "I dinna know. Never 'eard of the name outside You Know Who."

"Well, it's pretty obvious he has to have another name." Harry nodded with certainty. "I wonder what it was?'

"That's a real puzzler, 'Arry. Never thought u it like that, but yer right. " Hagrid nodded as he followed the conclusion of Harry's logic. "'E'd 'ave to 'ave a real name. No witch would name her baby Volde… well, you know. It's not a place, neither. "

Harry was quiet for a moment before coming to a decision about his family's arch enemy. "Well, I'm not gonna call him You Know Who because I don't. But if people don't like me saying the V word, I won't say that, either. How about the Puzzle… or wait… My cousin read these comics and one of the bad guys was the Riddler. So how about Riddle? I'm gonna call him Riddle."

Hagrid shrugged. "Suit yerself, 'arry. Now, lets finish this shoppin' afore I take yeh back tuh them muggles."


	8. Chapter 8: It's all in the intent

It's All in the Intent (sorry if you got two alerts on this one. I noticed a typo or two after I posted. I'm sure there's more, but my editor has the century off.)

"Harry Potter!" The headmaster of his school called Harry's name when a slip burst forth from the ancient, powerful Goblet of Fire.

With that, Harry was conscripted as a fourth contestant in the so-called "tri" wizard tournament. Harry wasn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but even he knew tri meant three.

"No." Harry loudly and emphatically stated as Dumbledore glared at him, the ancient wizard's blue eyes lacking their traditional twinkle.

The murmurs and accusations were starting to swell at the student tables. He could hear the "cheat" accusation already. Harry didn't let his exasperation with his fellow students show on his face. He just kept his eyes trained on Dumbledore.

"Harry, you have to go," his best friend, Hermione, pled as she pulled on his robe sleeve. His other friend, Ron, was torn between a glare of jealous anger and a stunned disbelief: Harry wouldn't back out of a magical contract.

Still, Harry made no move.

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore stated with a heavy voice, "the Goblet constructs a binding magical contract. You must go to the ante-room and prepare to compete in the tournament."

Harry inhaled deeply through his nose, briefly closed his eyes, then opened them and spoke.

"Sir, we have been taught here that magic is about intent. I did not enter my name, I have no desire to compete in this tournament. I will not compete in this tournament." His voice held both strength and finality. The Potter (Evans, really) stubbornness had kicked in, big time.

Some of the murmurs around him began to be questions. Would Potter really break a magical contract? Why would someone else put his name in the drawing? Of course, most of the folks were still tarring him with the "attention-grabbing cheater" brush, a la Snape, but the tide had a bit of turn to it.

The headmaster, however, seemed to sag a bit as worry filled his countenance. "Mr. Potter, Harry, I have no doubt you did not enter your own name. No one with your education or access would have been able to force this instrument to believe there were four schools in the competition. That level of… potentially a variant on a confundus charm?..." he paused, thinking aloud, "would take both time and training that you simply did not have available to you. But the fact remains: you are bound. If you do not compete, you will lose your magic."

The tide of accusations around him came to a screeching halt with Dumbledore's explanations. The crowd waited with bated breath to see what Potter's answer would be.

His answer was a shrug.

"So, I lose my magic," he stated with a bit of a sigh. "I know next to nothing about your magical world. I've no idea how to do even the most basic things – like find a job, a flat, buy food, cook it… all things I can do with ease on the muggle side. The only reason I came here was because I'd get fed three meals a day and have an actual bed to sleep in – never had any of that before I came here. So, yeah, I'd be sad to have to leave, especially if I have to go back to the Dursleys. But it wouldn't be the end of the world.

"So, Headmaster Dumbledore, for the third time, I say NO. NO, I WILL NOT compete in the tri-wizard tournament."

The Goblet shimmered as Harry's thrice stated refusal terminated the contract. The ancient, powerful object reacted almost cataclysmically. Its purpose: to strip magic from the ones whose intent it was that Harry Potter should compete in the tri-wizard tournament.

The blue flame streamed through the enchanted ceiling and, after a short period, multiplied at its base. It zapped Potter directly in the forehead. It zapped Severus Snape and Igor Karkaroff (who had been waiting impatiently in the ante-chamber) in the arm. Flares hit the chests of Albus Dumbledore and Alastor Moody (or the man posing as the famous ex-auror: his appearance changed immediately as he did not have enough magic left to support the appearance rendered by the polyjuice potion he had been imbibing.) Other rays of light aimed for places inside and out of the castle, stripping the magic of the ones who had broken a contract.

The fallout was both intense and immense.

Aurors flowed into the great hall, having been mustered by Amelia Bones, head of the department of magical law enforcement. She, in turn, had been summoned by her niece, Susan Bones, when the goblet first spit out a fourth slip.

After the petrifications of students in Susan's second year at Hogwarts, Susan's parents had wanted her to have access to some authority outside the castle in case of emergency. A mystical magical artifact behaving in a strange way was just the kind of harbinger Susan's parents had warned her to be wary of. Her aunt took charge of the chaos that followed the blue light show.

"I am Amelia Bones and I am in charge here, now. Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, please have your prefects hold the students at their tables. Calm down, all of you!" she shouted into the melee. There was a lessening of noise and movement almost immediately. "Shacklebolt, contact Rufus, tell him to organize healers and veritaserum. We have a man here who was posing as Alastor Moody, and he looks a great deal like Bartemius Crouch, Junior, who's supposed to be dead." Those who heard that gasped at that information, none more so than Neville Longbottom. Bones, however, gave the hairy eyeball to Crouch Senior, who could not - or would not - meet her gaze.

With that, aurors took over the crime scene, isolating those who had been struck with the goblet's wrath and the organizers of and participants in the tournament. There was a great deal of work to be done.

~~this is a line break~~

And so it was, several days later, that Harry awoke in "his" bed in the infirmary. Next to him, he could hear that lady with the funny eye piece talking to – or rather chastising – Headmaster Dumbledore, who was (similar to Harry) incapacitated and abed.

Knowing that the best information would, once again, be held from him, Harry feigned sleep as he eavesdropped.

"I ask you again, Albus, how is it that you missed the signs that man was not Moody? You had your potion master complaining that the ingredients for Polyjuice were missing from his stocks. There were several tells – many of them Alastor insisted we check him for, and if we didn't, he'd ream us a good one. No, I think you knew it wasn't Moody. You let it play out. The fact that the goblet stripped some of your magic shows that you had some intent for the Potter lad to complete. The fact that said-same poseur and potion master are now little better than a squibs shows what could have happened to you. I'd think you'd cooperate fully, in case there's some other magical oath you're in danger of breaking."

Dumbledore sighed.

"I have no excuse. I knew that Tom was trying to find his way back to our plane – he's made several attempts. I must be vigilant and use all that I can to stop him. Amelia, I simply must know what you found at the site young Bartemius sent you to."

"No, Albus, you mustn't. You've been stripped of your Chief Warlock position in emergency session. It came out that you did not demand a trial for Lord Black – when you had evidence that he was innocent and had never had a trial. Yes, you aided in his escape, but you did not do your job as chief adjudicator. You allowed that "kiss on sight" command of the minister's - or I should say, former minister – to remain. When it was revealed that Fudge attempted summary execution on the Lord of an Ancient and Noble house? Well, Fudge wasn't long for office. Especially since most of his supporters and personal friends are curiously absent - read comatose, like our friend Snape over there. Indeed, they couldn't have "supported" him anyway, since when they wake they will most likely find themselves locked out of their Gringotts vaults, not having enough magic to access them anymore."

"And what of Mr. Potter? It's been days and all the healers will tell me is that he is stable. Does he still have his magic? As his protector…"

"Stop right there," Amelia almost growled out the command. "Protector. You've been quite the opposite of that, haven't you then? At least you didn't slip up and say headmaster, as you've been – righteously – stripped of that position, too.

"No, my office investigated the 'never had a bed or three meals a day' statement Potter made and, well, you've never protected him from anything, have you? Forced to banish a possessed professor at eleven, faced with a horcrux and a basilisk at twelve, and almost kissed by dementors – thrice! – at thirteen… the memories provided by Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger tell quite the tale. You've been no protector. In fact, I believe many of the trials he's been through were simply tests you've run, contrary to his safety. I'm arranging the Potter solicitors to have all this information. You can answer them as to why you've blocked their access and put their client in harms' way.

"Oh, and by the way, don't think that you'll be able to fool that young man again. If you've wondered why I've waxed so eloquent about the details of just what's going on right now, it's because I want Mr. Potter here to NOT be in the dark anymore. Do you have questions about anything, Mr. Potter?" Bones stood and moved to Harry's bed, sitting gingerly on the side and catching his now-open eye.

"What happened to me?" Harry decided not to acknowledge his embarrassment at being caught out.

"It seems that Mr. Tom Riddle – the formerly self-styled Lord Voldemort – was once again making an attempt at having a corporeal form. Your dream from this summer? That was him commanding the man – his servant – who posed as your defense teacher to enter you into this tournament. It was Riddle's intent that you compete, so it was Riddle's magic that was stripped. I dare say you've saved us all, again." Bones smiled, and in a strangely maternal gesture, ran her hand through his eternally birds' nest/ bed-head coiffure.

"I'm not going to get another barmy name out of it, am I?" Harry asked, exasperated.

She barked out a laugh. Then she sobered.

"Your scar," she nodded to the now very-faint scar on Harry's forehead. "It housed some of his magic. Your friends have stated that you got pains in your scar whenever he was around – this would have been why. His marked servants – ones with his tattoo on their arms – said the same. His magic would make them ache with its desire to return to its source. The goblet… ate, for a lack of a better term, all of that magic. You lost your scar; all of his marked servants had that tattoo burned out and destroyed.

"In your case, your magic had been working to isolate Riddle's magic from you, so now that foreign magic is gone, healers tell me your magic has undergone a radical growth. It's why you've been unconscious for days – your magic needed to stabilize at its new levels. Unfortunately for the death eaters, their own magic was willingly entwined with Riddle's mark, so they suffered huge losses of magic. They, like Professor Snape," she indicated a bed farther down the infirmary floor, "are mostly in comas while their bodies try to adjust to life almost without magic. Some will not survive. And in the end, the goblet is that much more powerful."

"The goblet? The tournament will continue? Will the goblet be evil since it has so much evil magic in it now?" Harry asked in surprise.

Bones shook her head "As you stated so eloquently, magic is about intent. Riddle's magic wasn't evil, his intent was. So the goblet will be no more or less evil than it has ever been. As for the tournament, surely you can see that it must continue. Those other three contestants are now completely aware what will happen to them if they don't compete. Though, I have a feeling this will be the last time the tournament will be held. Do you have any other questions?"

"Too many. Can I contact you later when I get them all in order? I mean, solicitors? And Sirius – is he free now? Do you know where he is? If Dumbledore isn't head anymore, who is? And…"

His litany was interrupted by the arrival of a healer. It wasn't Pomphrey but a short, graying man with a comforting face. "Ah, Mr. Potter is awake. I'll bet you're sore, then, son? Want to get up a bit and stretch it out? Just be careful. The healing we did on your frame means your balance will be off for a while until you get used to being taller and more filled out. Why Poppy never… alas…"

"Indeed," Amelia caught the healer's eye and shook her head. "I must be off. Mr. Potter, make your lists. I'll have my elf stop by this evening for a list, and I'll send him back with it when I finish answering your questions. Meanwhile, Healer Pemberton, please put the silencing ward around Mr. Dumbledore's bed. We wouldn't want him bothering Mr. Potter or anyone else, now that he's awake. Good afternoon."

As she walked off the ward, Harry stood up to begin figuring out how to use his newly-recovered physique. He noticed his friends at the door, waiting with bright eyes and relieved smiles to greet him. He decided maybe this magic world wasn't such a bad place. Although he'd been ready to walk away, maybe he'd give it a second chance. After all, the muggle world would always be there, waiting, if he changed his mind.


	9. Chapter 9: Is It All in the Intent?

12) Is it all in the intent?

(so, this is the alternate version of a previous chapter. You can probably skip the first bit as it is pretty much verbatim up to the goblet spewing its guts.)

(also, I took, as I always do, liberties with canon. Fanfic. Just repeat to yourself… it's only fanfic!)

~~ this is a line break ~~

"Harry Potter!" The headmaster of his school called Harry's name when a slip burst forth from the ancient, powerful Goblet of Fire.

With that, Harry was conscripted as a fourth contestant in the so-called "tri" wizard tournament. Harry wasn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but even he knew tri meant three.

"No." Harry loudly and emphatically stated as Dumbledore glared at him, the ancient wizard's blue eyes lacking their traditional twinkle.

The murmurs and accusations were starting to swell at the student tables. He could hear the "cheat" accusation already. Harry didn't let his exasperation with his fellow students show on his face. He just kept his eyes trained on Dumbledore.

"Harry, you have to go," his best friend, Hermione, pled as she pulled on his robe sleeve. His other friend, Ron, was torn between a glare of jealous anger and a stunned disbelief: Harry wouldn't back out of a magical contract.

Still, Harry made no move.

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore stated with a heavy voice, "the Goblet constructs a binding magical contract. You must go to the ante-room and prepare to compete in the tournament."

Harry inhaled deeply through his nose, briefly closed his eyes, then opened them and spoke.

"Sir, we have been taught here that magic is about intent. I did not enter my name, I have no desire to compete in this tournament. I will not compete in this tournament." His voice held both strength and finality. The Potter (Evans, really) stubbornness had kicked in, big time.

Some of the murmurs around him began to be questions. Would Potter really break a magical contract? Why would someone else put his name in the drawing? Of course, most of the folks were still tarring him with the "attention-grabbing cheater" brush, a la Snape, but the tide had a bit of turn to it.

The headmaster, however, seemed to sag a bit as worry filled his countenance. "Mr. Potter, Harry, I have no doubt you did not enter your own name. No one with your education or access would have been able to force this instrument to believe there were four schools in the competition. That level of… potentially a variant on a confundus charm?..." he paused, thinking aloud, "would take both time and training that you simply did not have available to you. But the fact remains: you are bound. If you do not compete, you will lose your magic."

The tide of accusations around him came to a screeching halt with Dumbledore's explanations. The crowd waited with bated breath to see what Potter's answer would be.

His answer was a shrug.

"So, I lose my magic," he stated with a bit of a sigh. "I know next to nothing about your magical world. I've no idea how to do even the most basic things – like find a job, a flat, buy food, cook it… all things I can do with ease on the muggle side. The only reason I came here was because I'd get fed three full meals a day and have an actual bed to sleep in – never had any of that before I came here." Dumbledore sagged even more at those damning statements. "So, yeah, I'd be sad to have to leave, especially if I have to go back to the Dursleys. But it wouldn't be the end of the world.

"So, Headmaster Dumbledore, for the third time, I say NO. NO, I WILL NOT compete in the tri-wizard tournament."

The Goblet shimmered as Harry's thrice stated refusal to honor it terminated the contract. The ancient, powerful object reacted almost cataclysmically. Its purpose: to strip magic from Harry Potter. The contract was sealed; the contract had been broken.

The goblet flames shot a beam of energy toward Harry, and he looked it down for the moment that it was coming. The moment of truth.

The beam hit him square in the chest. He could feel that intrinsic part of him immolating under the pressure. The goblet's tentacles spread throughout his system, stripping the magic almost seemingly from every cell in his body. When it reached his head, it took what delight a semi-sentient, ancient cup could as it got an extra little snack from the curse in Harry's scar.

When it was done, Harry collapsed. He didn't hear the weeping around him or feel Hermione's tears as aurors pulled her from him. He didn't see Ron's shame-filled horror nor Draco's triumphant grin.

In the kitchens, Dobby felt his master being assaulted and, knowing that Mister Harry Potter Sir would be denied his magical belongings now, Dobby gathered all of Harry's things in the castle and popped them to Gringotts. Before he informed the goblins of what happened he wisely withdrew as much muggle money as he could. The goblins then closed down the Potter vault until the next magical descendant could claim it.

~~ this is a line break~~

When Harry next woke, he was in a regular, normal hospital bed. He smiled as he saw the IV and realized that he was… free. Well, he would be. Without magic, there would be no way for the magicals to find him if he hid himself right. As an abandoned child, he could… prevaricate and dissemble about his past. So long as no one tried to send him back to Privet Drive (and those wards that senile old man kept raving about must have magical blood to run them, yeah? So no more Dursleys!) he'd be able to find his way. He'd found his way before. At least this time, no Tom Riddle to boondoggle him.

As he stirred, he heard a soft pop. There stood an elf, not at all hesitant or scared but self-assured. He'd never seen an elf look quite so… resolute.

"Dobby?"

"Yes, Master Harry Potter Sir, I is Dobby. You be squibby now, but Dobby still serve. Yous need elvesies more now than before. Dobby will take care. Headmaster Whiskers gave Dobby directions, Winky too. Said Master Harry Potter Sir needs lots of help since bad cup stole his magics. Winky come tomorrow."

Harry started to get nervous.

"It's great seeing you, and I hope that Winky is feeling better. Can you make sure no one can see you?"

Dobby… sighed. It seemed that Dobby now thought he was in charge. His next words proved that assumption.

"Dobby know how to serve and not bes looked at. Winky, too. Dobby put Master Harry Potter Sir's things in gobliny vault and withdrew muggle moneys for Master Harry Potter Sir. Dobby told goblinies what happened and they have locked up Master Harry Potter Sir's vault. Gold will be safe for Master Harry Potter Sir's offspring. Goblinies will get snakey parts from big bad snake and put profits in Master Harry Potter Sir's vault."

"What about Hedwig, Dobby?"

"Owlie not bes able to find Master Harry Potter Sir. Dobby hid Master Harry Potter Sir because Headmaster Whiskers told Dobby to. Headmaster Whiskers stopped bad aurors from taking Master Harry's memories. Said bad men will still look for Master Harry Potter Sir. No owlies will find you – like before Master Harry Potter Sir came to Hoggywarty. Her Owlieness Hedwiggy is with bushy haired friend now. Master Harry Potter Sir not worry. Dobby take care."

Just then the door started to open and Dobby popped out.

"Well, our guest is awake! My name is Stacey, I'm your nurse today. How are you feeling?"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "A bit like I was run down by a lorry, to be honest. Where am I?"

The child before her had several scars of varying age. He hadn't had an easy life, up to that point. His blood had come back clean of any meds, narcotics, or other illicit drugs. But they had no idea who he was and no missing-persons reports matched his description.

Stacey smiled and cocked her head. "Well now, you don't have any broken bones or severe bruising, so I think it's a safe bet to say you weren't run down by a lorry. As for where you are: you are now a guest in the poshest of suites at the James Cook University Hospital in Middlesbrough. And we need your information so that we can get your NHS started. Let's start with an easy question: what's your name?"

"My name? Harry. Harry James Dobbins. If I may ask, how did I end up here?" She dutifully filled in the appropriate line on her chart while she answered his question.

"You appeared in our emergency take-in. No one recalls how you got there. It's very strange and mysterious. You've given a number of us a good story to tell in the pub! Now, you seem to be in relatively good shape. Could use some sun, but couldn't we all, and a bit more food in your system. You teenagers and your picky eating habits. Do you know your NIN? No? Ok, we'll do it the hard way. How old are you, then?"

"I'm fourteen. My birthday is 1 September. That's 1 September, 1980," Harry sighed. Trying to tell a mix of truth and lies that he would remember was a bit hard. But he needed to make sure that they couldn't find him. "I guess you'll be asking about my parents. They died. When I was a kid. Accident." Harry pointed to the now-faded scar on his forehead. "This is my souvenir of a drunk driver killing my parents. I lived with an aunt and her family… but they… didn't really ever want me."

The scars, she thought, the scars and malnutrition.

"A few years ago, they sent me to this really bad boarding school. It's up in the wilds of Scotland. They taught us almost nothing but kept me away from my Aunt and Uncle. What day is it?"

"It's Guy Fawkes day, Harry. You won't be able to attend a bonfire but you should hear some of the fireworks, even from in here. You've been mostly unconscious since you got here yesterday. Glad to see those gorgeous brown eyes of yours are open now."

Brown eyes? He hoped his Dursley-trained poker-face held. Dobby had truly outdone himself here.

He answered a few more questions, was subjected to a few more tests. But in the end, they took him into the system – the system that Vernon had threatened him with all Harry's life. That system happened to be a vast improvement over life at number 4 (it even improved over life at Hogwarts – no magic, but no stares and whispers, either).

He fell into a routine at school – study hard but just pass the tests (that was mostly familiar). Learn as much as he could about the various trades – and he had a knack for fixing things that he'd never have found out about if he'd had a wand to use.

Learn to live.

~~ this is a line break~~

The fallout in Hogwarts was both intense and immense.

Amelia Bones, head of the department of magical law enforcement, had been called by her niece, Susan Bones, when the goblet had spit out a fourth name. Susan's parents had been a bit concerned (read: horrified) by the stories that Susan had brought home from Hogwarts. Possessed professors, basilisks, dementors… They wanted to protect her, and having an in with magical law gave them that opportunity. She was given an alert beacon that would draw her Aunt as soon as that lady was physically able.

Amelia listened to just a bit of the argument between the old headmaster and the young hero. And one of her former aurors stood looking on with something akin to glee in his eye. It was quite out of character.

Something was definitely rotten in Denmark.

Then, out of nowhere, Dumbledore whipped out his wand and cursed that self-same former auror who glowed blue before passing out. Amelia trained her wand on the aged headmaster.

"I apologize Madame Bones. Mister Potter's vehement denial made me realize there were few candidates that could have perpetrated this heinous deed. The only one of any note who had access to the goblet was Master Auror Moody. I could not think of why Alastor would have committed such a heinous act. However, when I combined this conundrum with Severus's complaints that boomslang skin among other… shall we say catalytic?... ingredients have been disappearing from the school's stores? Well, I believe this may not be Alastor Moody. Shall we sniff his flask?"

Amelia narrowed her eyes on the uncharacteristically open and helpful Chief Warlock. She nodded at one of her aurors who checked Moody's flask. After a brief nod, Shackelbolt stated: "Polyjuice, sir."

By this time, the other champions and their heads as well as the Triwizard judges had come back into the main room from the antechamber. The judges both looked inordinately guilty and Amelia noted this before ordering them both detained. Crouch had just begun to half-heartedly bluster when Moody began to change back into his base form: Crouch's own son.

The night continued to issue challenges to the DMLE head who, surprisingly, found herself completely aligned with Albus Dumbledore, of all people. Not that she'd ever found the man to be her enemy, but he often obfuscated the truth under so many layers of misdirection, she had trouble following what it was he honestly said. Not this evening, though. The loss of his protégé seemed to have dispelled his perplexing nature.

This was a warlock who was going to get things done.

By the end of the evening, the aurors had captured a strange homunculus that purported to house the spirit of Voldemort and had arrested Peter Pettigrew for faking his own death. Several pillars of the society found themselves in situations close to that of Harry Potter – squibbed – when the unspeakables took charge of the same homunculus and presumably did some sort of magic removal on it. Pettigrew, unable to channel his animagus transformation any longer, was forced to tell the truth of the events of 1981.

The ripples of change would continue to disturb the magical society of Britain for years, all because a stubborn boy refused to fall into a trap designed for him.

~~ this is a line break ~~

Seventeen years later.

Hermione Granger was taking a well-deserved break after her last marathon resident shift. Brews and Bytes (the y was crossed out and interchanged with an "i", signifying that the place was an internet café and served food). She'd heard the coffee and chocolate here were superior, and it was only two blocks from her new flat.

She opened the door, stepped in, and closed her eyes, taking in the smell of the wonderful brew. Queueing in the surprisingly-long line, she eyed the pastries and sandwiches in the display case. The soup of the day smelled heavenly. And that little chocolates display – her dentist parents notwithstanding, artisan chocolates were a serious weakness for Hermione.

This place was going to put a dent in her meager budget.

As she decided on what she would order, today, she noted the door to the kitchen pop open slightly. "Why didn't you folks tell me we were slammed? What drinks are up next?"

It couldn't be.

The eyes were brown.

The hair was a birds nest, true, but the inky-black had a smattering of premature-grey in it. As though its fair-skinned, scarred (lightning bolt, faded, but check), wiry owner had gone through some rough times. He was slightly taller than Harry had been, slightly more filled out. He looked as though he had undergone some plastic surgery, maybe.

But he was Harry.

How could she do this? Could she do this? Her best friend – always and forever – and he wouldn't know her. Could she do this?

Hermione continued to stare at the barrista. He smiled up, not noting her, and asked, "Can I get a drink started for you… Hermione?"

"Harry?" She whispered, then shook herself, looking around to see if anyone noticed. "Regular cappuccino, please."

Harry nodded, his hands working the machine. His smile returned, but it was blank now, as though he were processing something. Making a decision, he finished up the drinks he was making and talked to the person at the register. Then he disappeared into the kitchen.

Hermione ordered a half cress sandwich and cup of soup with her drink. When she opened her wallet, the cashier smiled. "No charge, miss." Hermione muttered her thanks and left a generous tip.

Moving to the quietest corner, she took a seat and opened her laptop. She faked at working as she picked at her lunch. Of course, being as she was, her fake work soon became real work as she became engrossed with an article that she had begun to peruse. By the time she had finished her soup and half sandwich and a little plate with two chocolates that had appeared halfway through her repast, the café's late lunch crowd had dispersed. Though some customers were still milling, and drinking and typing, Hermione found herself alone in her corner of the café.

It was then that Harry joined her.

"Harry… Harry… how?"

Harry smiled at his erstwhile friend. "So, do you like my place?" He handed her a business card.

Brews and Bytes

Harry Dobbins - owner and proprietor

07911 123456

brewsandbytes

"OK, so you own a very successful café. How? More, how do you remember me?"

"Well, when the goblet did its whammy, Dumbledore came through in a big way. Bound Dobby and Winky to me, confounded the obliviators to make them think they'd wiped my memory, changed my appearance, and gave me time and space to survive and flourish. I think he felt guilty. Anyway, I went through the system, had enough money from the Potter vaults to start this place up about two years ago. So far, so good. Helps that I'm good with my hands, so I don't have to pay people to fix stuff. What the elves can't handle, I can. My story's easy. You? What are you doing in the muggle world?"

"Why are you talking about this? The statute!" Hermione looked around suspiciously, but the customers were ignoring her and Harry.

"Elves put a notice-me-not and silencing spell on this corner. We're safe as houses. Now talk!"

"Well, I finished Hogwarts, even though I didn't want to. After they wiped you – supposedly – we mudbloods were on our best behavior. A bunch of the purebloods were squibbed the same day you were, as the unspeakables drained some version of Voldemort of his magic. You'd think that would solve problems, right? Wrong. They found out he was a half-blood and blamed us all again. I couldn't get an apprenticeship or a job here in Britain when I graduated – had to go abroad. I found a healer in the States that apprenticed me. But it's even weirder in the States than it is here. The statute is absolute. I couldn't even contact my parents if I stayed there. So I came back here, even though I can't practice at Mungo's or anything. I decided to get my muggle credentials. So remedial school to uni to med school… It's been a long track, but I'm in my last year of training. I'm actually a resident – general medicine – at James Cook here in Middlesbrough, so I'll be able to use both sides, if I'm careful."

"Anybody special in your life?" Harry asked.

"I dated Justin Finch-Fletchley the last few months. You remember him?" At Harry's tight nod – not that he blamed the kid for the whole Heir of Slytherin thing, but Harry still had a a bad taste at the thought of the little blueblood. "Yeah, we were a bit of an item. But he is so busy – his family's bank and Gringotts have some sort of partnership going now – and, well, med school is no picnic. So we drifted apart. You?"

"Had a girl for a while. Couldn't tell her about Dobby and Winky. She thought I was seeing someone else," he shrugged.

"I get it. I can't date anyone in the non-magical world because I'd risk the statute. But I don't want to risk dating anyone in the magical world. They really frown on us mudbloods being successful. I'd be sure to have an… accident if I kept any relationships in that world."

Hermione sounded bitter, and that hurt Harry.

He reached for her hand.

"If I'd have known, all those years ago, I wouldn't have…"

"Stop. It was Voldemort, Harry. They tried to force you to fight Voldemort. Again. And you know? That Crouch guy? It was his son – his own murdering, death-eater son that he illicitly freed from Azkaban – that put your name in the contest. Crouch was a high-placed government official. The same official that put Sirius in Azkaban without a trial. You would have died, Harry. As it was, Fleur's sister was taken hostage and killed. Krum lost his left arm and quidditch career. And Cedric died. Harry, that tournament was a disaster. And look at you…"

Tears filled Hermione's eyes. Harry handed her a napkin as she waved away his frightened concern. "No, no. I'm fine! More than! So many years, I've wondered what happened to you. Thought they'd maybe found you and killed you in revenge. To see you happy, healthy… not just surviving, but thriving! I'm so glad! I'm so glad I stopped in here today!"

Harry smiled. "Me, too, Hermione. Me, too."

(*) (*)

Fin

~~that was the end~~~

So what about Sirius and the Weasleys and Dumbledore? Is this Harmony? I can't answer those questions. My instinct is that Sirius doesn't want anything to do with muggle Harry. The Weasleys are the same – muggles are not part of their world. And I just can't write that. I had a hard enough time writing a repentant Dumbledore! I do, however, see Harry and Hermione banding together in this one, and eventually having kids that are required to attend Hogwarts. What would happen then? Well, I don't know. That's why the story is ending here. :)


End file.
